


Private Security

by Kangofu_CB



Series: Security Issues [6]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottoming from the Top, Bucky cares a lot, Clint Barton’s Low Self Esteem, Collars, Edgeplay, Harness, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Office Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Role Reversal, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22326598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/pseuds/Kangofu_CB
Summary: “You like it,” James said, a little bit knowing but also a little wonderment in his voice, like he hadn’t expected Clint to agree to it, much less appreciate it as much as the obvious bulge in his pants let on.“Yeah,” Clint croaked, finally managing to squeeze words out. “It looks- I like-” he gave up, unable to articulate the complicated mix of feelings. He liked people being able to look at him and see he belonged with James, liked the predatory, possessive way James looked at him, liked the mark on his throat and the clear signal it sent that he was taken. That someone wanted him.Wanted to keep him.“I like it,” he agreed, eventually. “Not all the time but-”“Just for tonight,” James said, seeming to catch on to what it was Clint was trying to tell him. He straightened Clint’s shirt and smoothed the shoulders of his jacket. “Tonight for the party, and if you’re very, very good, you can have anything you want when we get home.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Security Issues [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1287164
Comments: 75
Kudos: 274





	Private Security

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a photo and art that Maeve sent me which will hopefully be posted as a related work very soon!
> 
> ETA: the Art is done and linked at the end of the fic!!! Go look and leave love!!! Amazing!

The suit made sense. It was a sensible, medium gray with a white collared shirt, matching socks, and even a belt to go with the shoes tucked just under the edge of the bed. 

What didn’t make sense was the thin strip of leather that was curled up on top of the entire ensemble. It was slim and supple, with a plain metal buckle on the front. It wasn’t long enough to be a belt, but if it was meant to go on Clint’s wrist like a bracelet, it was far too large. Maybe he was supposed to loop it? 

Clint put the suit on carefully. James had pressed the shirt into perfect creases and laid the entire thing out on the mattress for Clint to wear tonight. There was some kind of event at the museum - he was certain James had told him what it was for, but Clint had heard ‘blah blah private showing blah blah rich donors blah blah I have to make an appearance’ and forgot all the rest of the details immediately - and it apparently required fancy dress. So he buttoned the shirt and tucked it in, slipped his arms into the jacket, and carefully tied his shoes. There was no necktie in the pile, and Clint was silently grateful. Neckties made him think of stodgy Republicans and respectability, things Clint wasn’t all that familiar with. So he left the top button of the shirt undone and picked up the black leather band as he went to leave.

James was in the bathroom, presumably getting ready, though Clint had only caught the edges of his charcoal suit and a smirk as James shut the door behind him. 

“Hey what’s this… for?” Clint barely noted the final word coming out of his mouth, caught as he was by the vision in the bathroom. 

James was tying his hair back neatly when Clint walked in, freshly shaved and already wearing his own suit, shiny shoes and a silver watch glinting at his wrist. 

What caught Clint’s attention, however, wasn’t the normal get-up, but what James was wearing underneath.

Or what he wasn’t wearing underneath.

Or both.

In lieu of a crisp dress shirt of his own, James had on something that left miles of bare, tanned skin exposed beneath a criss-cross of black leather straps, disappearing under the jacket and the edges of his trousers, hiding his nipples but leaving nothing to the imagination.

Clint was pretty sure he swallowed his tongue.

“What the fuck?” he managed, unable to stop staring. 

James sauntered over, the leather straps shifting subtly with the motion, and used the edges of his fingers to tilt Clint’s chin up to meet his gaze. “The exhibit is on the History of Fetish Wear,” he reminded Clint gently. “I told you that when I asked you to go. Staff were encouraged to dress… accordingly.” 

Clint swallowed roughly.

Now that James said it, Clint vaguely recalled something about said exhibit, but he was only just realizing that he should have been paying more attention.

He was going to have to go to a public event and look at James looking like that all night.

He was already half-hard just thinking about it. 

Clint held the strip of black leather in his hand up wordlessly. Now that he had seen James’ outfit, he had a fair idea of what it was, but he couldn’t seem to get his mouth and his voice to work in conjunction well enough to ask. 

James took it out of his hand, stroking a thumb over the pliable material in a slow, hypnotic motion. He gave Clint an evaluating look, and ran the hand that was still at Clint’s chin down his throat in a light, fleeting touch, hovering momentarily over Clint’s pulse where it was thrumming in time to his rapidly-beating heart.

“You don’t have to wear it,” James reassured him, after a moment. “It doesn’t mean anything to me.” He paused, tilting his head to the side a little. “At an event like this, it just means you’re spoken for, not that you’re _owned_. I wouldn’t want that. But I thought you might like everyone to know what you are to me.” 

Clint sucked a breath in through his nose. He did want that, so suddenly and fiercely that it forced a sound out of his throat unbidden. 

James smiled, something both heated and tender in his gaze. “Was that a yes?” he asked, teasing.

Helpless to do anything else, Clint nodded. James ran his hand back up Clint’s throat, hovering over his pulse again, before reaching up to wrap the thin strip of leather around it, buckling it tenderly just over Clint’s Adam’s apple, so that every time he swallowed, he could feel the smallest restriction against the movement. James’ hand traced over the edge of the leather, making Clint shiver, and then he tugged the edge of it down and leaned in, dragging his teeth over the same delicate spot above his pulse. Clint’s breath hitched, and James applied suction, pulling blood to the surface of the skin and making Clint squirm under his hands, arching into the touch. 

James kept at it long enough that Clint knew it was going to leave a mark, then he eased back in slow, teasing increments, biting at the skin around the throbbing spot, dragging his teeth and tongue around the edges of the leather collar and pressing kisses to the hollow of Clint’s throat, where his shirt was parted at his collarbones. 

“There,” James said with some satisfaction, letting the collar slip back into place as he eased out of Clint’s arms. 

In the mirror, Clint could see the starkness of the black leather against the pale skin of his neck, and underneath it the rapidly-purpling bruise James had left behind, the edges of it just peeking around the collar. “Fuck,” he murmured, unable to help the jolt of arousal at the sight, and unprepared for the way it made him feel.

It wasn’t that he was into collaring _exactly_. They’d been together long enough now - been to enough scenes and Clint had done enough reading - to know what it entailed and to know it wasn’t really something either one of them was specifically interested in. But the sight of James standing next to him, one hand still pressed possessively into Clint’s hip and the collar at his throat, barely covering the mark James had left there…

Something about it was really doing it for Clint tonight. Every time he swallowed, the leather pressed just enough to remind Clint it was there, and the pressure against the love bite on his neck kept the hum of arousal buzzing in his veins. 

“You like it,” James said, a little bit knowing but also a little wonderment in his voice, like he hadn’t expected Clint to agree to it, much less appreciate it as much as the obvious bulge in his pants let on. 

“Yeah,” Clint croaked, finally managing to squeeze words out. “It looks- I like-” he gave up, unable to articulate the complicated mix of feelings. He liked people being able to look at him and see he belonged with James, liked the predatory, possessive way James looked at him, liked the mark on his throat and the clear signal it sent that he was taken. That someone _wanted_ him. 

Wanted to _keep_ him. 

“I like it,” he agreed, eventually. “Not all the time but-”

“Just for tonight,” James said, seeming to catch on to what it was Clint was trying to tell him. He straightened Clint’s shirt and smoothed the shoulders of his jacket. “Tonight for the party, and if you’re very, very good, you can have anything you want when we get home.”

Clint swallowed hard, his dick jumping in his pants and the collar squeezing, and then let out a near-silent gust of breath, a groan that wasn’t really disappointment so much as it was a vocal realization that James was going to torment him for the duration of the evening. James smirked up at him.

“Ready to go?”

**

The party was filled to the brim with disgustingly wealthy patrons, older people who tittered at the exhibits and eyed the staff - dressed in semi-formal renditions of bondage and fetish wear, the same as Clint and James - like they were part of the gallery. There were other people too - members of the public, maybe, and a few Clint recognized from the more exclusive scenes he and James had gone to, whose eyes caught on Clint’s collar and then immediately found somewhere else to look. 

He liked that, more than he expected.

He liked the way James stayed close, a hand on his lower back or brushing his hip or tangling their fingers together briefly as they moved through the exhibit. He liked the way people saw them together and gave them heated, considering looks, but didn’t approach. Clint was getting off a little bit on being the center of so much attention, and he wasn’t complaining about the scenery either. James looked and acted as though he were wearing his typical work clothes, gave no hint that he was at all uncomfortable or dressed unusually, interacting with staff and patrons alike with his usual confidence and ease. 

James kept a careful hand on Clint at all times, though, stroking lightly over his thumb if they were holding hands or steering him carefully through the darkened rooms of the exhibit, whispering about the set up or the cameras and Clint-

Clint found himself tongue-tied with want, something hot and needy curled up in his gut. He was barely able to greet the people James introduced him to, and he caught Nat smirking at him at least twice from across the room, where she was arm-in-arm with Maria, their own outfits stunning and suggestive without being over the top. Silk and latex and leather and heels up to _there_. 

James guided Clint towards them and Clint breathed a sigh of relief at finally speaking to someone he at least felt like himself around, like he wasn’t playing a role - pretending to be someone he wasn’t. Someone who belonged at private museum events with beautiful men on their arms. Clint had never imagined anything like this for himself. 

“Having fun?” Natasha asked, smirking at him over the edge of a glass. 

Clint looked around the room, dimly lit and interspersed with mannequins illuminated by uplighting and display cases that acted like beacons in the dark. He glanced back over at James, who was turned to face him, all that toned, tanned skin peeking out from between strips of black leather. “That’s not the word I’d use,” he managed, swallowing roughly. He had to swallow again, because every time he did it, the tug of the collar reminded him of its presence and sent his thoughts spiralling directly into the gutter. 

James smirked at him. “Thirsty?” he asked innocently, like he couldn’t see all the filthy thoughts on Clint’s mind playing out in the lines of his face, the way his gaze tracked over bare skin. 

“A drink would be lovely,” Maria answered, when it was clear Clint wasn’t going to. Natasha kicked him lightly in the shin, and Clint cleared his throat. 

“I could drink,” he said, like that made any sense at all. 

James leaned up, ran the barest tease of his lips along Clint’s jaw, then stepped away and headed for the bar. 

Clint watched him go - who _wasn’t_ watching him go? Clint wondered - but when he checked for an audience, Natasha and Maria were smiling indulgently at him and no one else seemed to be paying them any mind. 

“Be honest,” Maria asked, when she noticed she had Clint’s attention, “are you having a good time?”

“It’s been interesting,” Clint said, finally able to speak coherently now James wasn’t drawing little abstract patterns on his back or whispering commentary in his ear. “Some of what’s here from a long time ago is basically streetwear now.” He gestured vaguely at the two of them. “You could wear your outfits just about anywhere, really.”

“Could we?” Natasha asked lightly, then shifted, so that the silk top she was wearing slipped a little off of her shoulder, exposing another inch or two of pale, flawless skin.

“Uh,” Clint said, unsure how to answer. If he said yes was that the wrong answer? Natasha was a strong, independent woman who didn’t need anyone to tell her what she could wear in public. That, he should probably say that.

Luckily he was saved by James’ return, a flute of ice cold sparkling wine appearing in front of Clint like magic. He drank it too fast, suddenly aware of how hot and thirsty he was under his suit jacket, the bubbles fizzing in his nose. It didn’t help at all, because with every gulp of the drink, the collar pulled gently at his throat.

“Careful,” Nat told him, accepting her own glass, “you get drunk faster on champagne. It’s the bubbles.”

Clint had no idea if that was true or not, but it didn’t matter because he’d already emptied his glass. 

Ah well, he wasn’t fooling anyone in this small group about the level of class he possessed or his knowledge about sparkling wine. 

“We have a few more displays to see,” James drawled, tangling his fingers with Clint’s. “Would you ladies care to join us?”

The look Maria gave James was fond exasperation, and Natasha snorted a laugh. Clint was missing the joke somewhere, but it hardly mattered with how his pulse had skyrocketed just from that innocent touch. “We’ve seen them all already,” Maria demurred, “so it’s just mingling with the patrons now, but you two enjoy yourselves.”

“Oh we will,” James assured her, and Clint sucked in a sharp breath at his tone. Natasha gave him an unbelievably smug look as she turned with Maria in the opposite direction, aiming for a cluster of elderly people who were talking amongst themselves near a display of corsets. 

James tugged him further into the dark, and they paused at a display case with coils of intricately braided rope accompanied by diagrams of how each one was meant to be tied and worn - under or over clothing. Clint tried to pay attention to the cards, but James slid in closer, wrapping his arm around Clint’s waist and turning so that his breath was hot on Clint’s ear. “You’ve been very patient,” he murmured, sending a shiver down Clint’s spine. 

Clint hummed in response, not trusting himself to speak. They’d been at the museum for probably two hours already, not that there were any clocks, and Clint had been carefully keeping his hands to himself, letting himself be guided, letting James show him off, which was what Clint at least _thought_ he’d been doing all night. He wasn’t sure how show-worthy he was, but he’d done his best, straightening his spine and smiling and shaking hands and not tripping all over himself. He didn’t even have any visible bruises this week, other than the one James had left on his throat. 

“You have,” James said, still leaning his whole body into Clint’s and speaking directly into his ear, his voice smoky and a little breathless, “and I appreciate it. Can I show you how much I appreciate it?”

Clint nodded jerkily, the half-chub he’d been sporting nearly all night firming up instantly. 

“C’mon,” James told him, tugging Clint by their still-joined hands further into the exhibit, until they were past the lighted mannequins and the display cases, until they were at the far end of the room where Clint knew there was an _Employees Only_ entrance that lead to the twisting innards of the museum so that employees could move about unseen. 

He sucked in a deep, calming breath. It didn’t help calm him at all. 

James led him unerringly through the turns until even Clint was lost, though he shouldn’t have been, considering he’d been hired and successfully managed to break into the place. His mind wasn’t on the layout he’d memorized though, because it was focused solely on the idea that James was going to _appreciate_ him.

Oh, fuck. 

James pulled him through a familiar door, one that he unlocked with a keycode Clint still didn’t know but had managed to hack anyway, and then they were inside James’ private office in the lower levels of the building. Clint didn’t have much time to assess the room because he was being yanked into a soul-scorching kiss, all teeth and tongues and James digging his fingers into Clint’s ass to pull him forward, press him flush against James’ body and the matching hardness in his pants. 

Whatever fleeting thoughts Clint had had about museum security were well and truly gone. 

“I wanna touch you,” Clint panted, when James dragged his mouth away to leave sharp, biting kisses along his jawline and to nibble over the still-tender spot on his throat, the one that was partially covered by the leather collar. James leaned back to look at Clint, something calculating behind the heat in his gaze. 

“How do you want to touch me?” James asked, running his hands soothingly along Clint’s sides, where his chest was heaving for oxygen like he’d run ten miles instead of kissing his boyfriend. 

“However you’ll let me,” Clint told him easily, and James looked surprised.

Why, Clint didn’t know. It wasn’t as though the entire exhibit, the entire _event_ hadn’t been leading up to a moment like this one, a moment where Clint was practically begging to do whatever James wanted. It wasn’t as though James hadn’t been winding Clint up from the instant they stepped through the door- hell, from the moment he’d laid the thin strip of leather that rested on Clint’s throat on the bed for Clint to wear. He’d been setting them up for this exact scenario, and it was everything Clint could have asked for if he’d known how to do so. 

“How do you want me to touch you?” Clint asked, resting his hands lightly on James’ hips, so that the barest brush of his thumbs skated over the exposed skin of James’ waist. “I know you’ve thought about it - it’s your office, surely you’ve thought about what you’d like to do to me here.”

It was James’ turn to inhale sharply, and Clint watched in wonder as his eyes dilated and his tongue flicked out to wet his lips. He pulled Clint around the edge of the desk until he was standing in front of the leather rolling chair that waited there, like it had been set up just for this encounter. For this one moment in time, Clint and James alone in this office at a time when no one would be looking for them - no one to interrupt them - unless something happened.

The slight thrill that they _could_ be walked in on at any moment shivered up Clint’s spine, however unlikely it might be. 

“Well?” Clint asked, his voice rough with want. “How do you want me?”

“On your knees,” James said, and his own voice was hoarse, some of the command lost in what was nearly a plea, and Clint sank onto his knees obligingly, shuffling a little closer to James when it put him too far out of reach. He looked up at James, waiting patiently for instructions, and James took a breath that Clint could see shuddering in his chest, goosebumps breaking out over his bare skin.

James lowered himself into the desk chair still watching Clint, almost reverently, and then he reached for the buckle of his belt. Clint stretched his hands out, intending to help, but James stopped him with a sharp look and he subsided. James unbuckled the belt slowly, his eyes never leaving Clint’s face, then reached for the button and zipper of his trousers, peeling the fly back and coaxing his cock out, already thick and hard. 

“Put your hands behind your back,”James said, and Clint groaned, closing his eyes on the visual and the involuntary reaction it all sparked in him. He did as James said, wrapping his right hand around his left wrist behind him, and then shuffled forward on his knees until he was between James’ spread thighs. “Don’t make a mess,” James said, then gently tugged Clint forward to wrap his mouth around James’ cock.

Clint groaned when he got his lips around the head, shifting up higher on his knees and draping his chest along the edge of the chair. Without his hands for leverage it was all back and abdomen muscles to do the work, but that was fine. It was what James wanted, for him to work for it, for Clint to show him how much he _wanted_ it by showing him how hard he was willing to work to get it. 

And Clint wanted very, very badly. 

It was wet, spit-slick and hot within seconds, Clint slurping around James cock as he bobbed his head, mindful of the fact that James had asked him to keep it clean, not to make a mess of his trousers. Clint wasn’t sure if they’d have to go back to the party, but at the very least they’d have to go to valet to retrieve their car, and James would want to look presentable. 

Clint didn’t care at all about looking presentable, though, so he sucked furiously, laving his tongue under the head and humming when James shuddered underneath him and gave an aborted thrust of his hips. He sucked James’ cock enthusiastically, unmindful of the spit on his chin or the way his lips were swelling from the friction. He moaned when James ran his fingers lightly through the soft hair on the back of Clint’s head, arching into the touch even as he swallowed James down as far as he could go. 

“Oh fuck,” James breathed, and Clint could hear the _thunk_ of his head hitting the back of the chair. “Oh god, Clint. Just like that, sweetheart. You’re doin’ so good.”

Clint could feel his cheeks heat, could feel the way blood rushed to his cock at the praise, and he pushed himself even further, pushing his mouth down to the point of choking and then swallowing past that, feeling tears prick behind his eyelids. 

James was hot and huge in his mouth, leaking enough precome that Clint could get the occasional taste despite how furiously he was sucking James’ cock, could feel him swelling and James’ thighs tensing under his shoulders. James hands drifted from where they’d been resting mostly on Clint’s shoulders, helping him balance, until James had Clint’s face framed gently between his palms and he was rocking up to meet every bobbing motion Clint made, pushing his cock even deeper.

“Right there,” James gasped, his fingers spasming around Clint’s jaw, “right there, honey, I’m so close.” 

His left hand drifted even lower, until he reached the edge of Clint’s collar, and then the tucked two fingers underneath, just enough to pull the leather taut against Clint’s throat as he swallowed around James’ dick. 

Clint let out a garbled moan, something high-pitched and wanton, and James thrust up at the same time that he pulled Clint down, his fingers still trapped by the collar, and came down Clint’s throat in sharp, bitter pulses, near-silent except for harsh, panting breaths. Clint could feel James’ cock throbbing in his throat as he swallowed, working him through orgasm, helping him ride the pleasure as long as possible. 

“Oh fuck,” James said again, easing his grip on Clint’s jaw and letting his fingers slip free of the collar at his throat, instead smoothing the hair aorund his ears and the back of his head, combing it back into some sense of order. “That was great,” he said, hoarsely, still petting absently at Clint’s head and neck. “You did so good, sweetheart.” 

Moaning around the cock still in his mouth, Clint pressed into the soft touches, hands still behind his back, with his face resting on James’ thigh. He held James’ dick warm in his mouth until it softened, and then he released it gently, feeling James shudder underneath him. Clint sat back slowly, relaxing onto his heels and surveying his handiwork. James was lax in the office chair, his thighs sprawled and pants brazenly open, soft cock lying spent against his stomach. Clint couldn’t help the burst of pride that, other than his dick hanging out, James didn’t have a hair out of place, there was no mess in his lap, no spit or come on his trousers to be hidden or cleaned up. Clint glanced up to find James watching him, bemused pride on his face.

“You proud of yourself honey?” James asked him, looking sated and relaxed, and because Clint couldn’t help but feel proud of that too, he nodded. “You should be,” James told him, obviously feeling generous. He lifted his hand and ran a thumb under Clint’s swollen lip, catching moisture there and at the corner, and Clint sucked his thumb into his mouth and cleaned that up too. 

“Good job,” James murmured, pressing down on Clint’s tongue with his thumb, before dragging it out slowly.

Clint could almost ignore the throbbing of his cock when he focused on the singing sensation in his veins that came with James praising him for doing well. 

“That’s not all I’ve thought about doing to you in this office,” James said conversationally, like Clint hadn’t just blown his mind, like Clint wasn’t still on his knees on the floor with an erection hard enough to pound nails. 

“It’s… not?” Clint managed, his voice rough, and not just from the way he’d had James’ cock in it. 

“I think a lot about having you bent over this desk.” James gestured at the wide expanse of wood, mostly bare except for a few odds and ends along the edges and a computer off to the side. James’ compulsive neatness was felt even more keenly at work than at home, where Clint had coaxed him into something slightly more relaxed. 

Clint swallowed around the sudden surge of arousal in his veins. Not that he hadn’t been aroused since before they walked in, but the thought of being bent over James’ work desk, helpless, just did something to him. The idea that James had thought about it - had spent days at this very desk where he did the work that was important to him and instead thought about fucking Clint on it - well, that was something Clint was going to spend a lot of time thinking about. 

Later. 

When it wasn’t on the verge of happening to him. 

“Yeah?” he panted, hearing the thickness of arousal in his own voice. 

James smirked, reaching down to offer Clint a hand to pull himself up with. Clint got to his feet, looming over James who was still reclined leisurely in the chair, his cock still out. Clint’s cock was trapped in his trousers, stretching the front of them obscenely, on display with his jacket pushed back and his shirt tucked in. James reached out and ran a fingertip over it, light enough that it made Clint shudder, though not so light that it tickled. He unsnapped Clint’s trousers and unzipped them with excruciating slowness, until Clint could swear he felt each individual tooth of the zipper pressed up against his dick. 

“Over the desk,” James told him, when Clint’s pants were unzipped but his cock was still strangled by the briefs he’d worn underneath them. Clint scrambled to obey, turning sideways so that he was facing the very center of the desk and then draping himself over it. He wrapped his fingers along the far edge to brace himself in place and took a trembling breath. His skin was on fire with arousal, it was climbing up his spine and buzzing in his ears, so hot and heavy he could barely breathe, was completely unable to think. 

James ran his hands over Clint’s ass, stroking along the fabric of the suit, scraping his blunt nails against the fabric until Clint was straining into the touch, no words needed to demonstrate how much he was begging for it. 

“Fuck, this is even better than I imagined,” James murmured, so low Clint wasn’t even sure he was intended to hear it. He shivered anyway. 

James worked Clint’s pants and underwear down until his ass was exposed but his cock still trapped, still contained in the choking constriction of cotton, and Clint nearly sobbed. The desk was unforgivingly hard underneath him, but Clint would still rub himself off on it if given a chance. James didn’t give him that chance. Instead he stood behind Clint, nudging him further on to the wood until only Clint’s toes were on the ground for balance and he didn’t have any leverage at all with his feet. 

“Hands behind your back,” James told him again, and Clint choked on air, he choked on _nothing_ , he choked on his own lust, the thrill of being in such a vulnerable position. He pried his fingers off of the desk and shifted, bringing his arms down and taking weight on his chest, once again holding his left wrist in his right hand. 

“That’s so good,” James crooned, wrapping his fingers around Clint’s hands to hold them in place as he shivered and shuddered.

He dragged his other hand lower, brushing his thumb against Clint’s ass, pressing at the tight ring of muscle there and feeling it contract under his touch. His hand moved and Clint could hear him rummaging around in his desk drawers before he was back, drizzling cool liquid down Clint’s crack. 

Clint opened his mouth to ask why the _fuck_ James kept lube in his desk drawer, but the words were lost to the sensation of James spreading the lube around his hole, pressing the flat of his thumb inside to where Clint was hot and tight and needy. 

“Oh fuck,” Clint managed, his head thunking painfully on the desk. He barely noticed, too focused on the pleasure James was providing to really care about the possible bruise on his forehead. 

James hummed something that wasn’t exactly agreement. “Tell me before you come,” he instructed, and Clint nodded vigorously. “Clint,” James said, firmly, squeezing Clint’s wrists.

“I’ll tell you before I come,” Clint answered, breathless, even as he squirmed to get more of James inside him. James obliged, slipping a digit inside Clint’s pliant, willing body, working the lube in deeper with every press, searching out the place inside Clint that would make him shout, make him writhe, make him _come_. He found it with unerring accuracy, because he knew Clint’s body nearly as intimately as he knew his own, and Clint made a whimpering noise he couldn’t quite contain.

James leaned over, pressing his mouth to the back of Clint’s neck, nibbling at the edge of the collar as he rocked the single finger in and out of his body in perfect, slow movement. When it slid easily and Clint was making pleading, whimpering noises, James delved deeper, finding Clint’s prostate again and pressing into it, forcing the pleasure out of him rhythmically as Clint panted and whined, trying to arch his body into the touch or into the desk and unable to do either as James pushed him inexorably to the edge. 

“Please,” he gasped out.

“Are you close?” James asked, his voice low and firm and coaxing.

“Almost,” Clint panted, twisting underneath him. 

“Tell me before you’re going to come,” James said again, and kept with the same unrelenting pace, until Clint could feel tears prickling behind his eyelids. 

“I’m close, I’m so close, I’m-”

James pulled back until his finger was only _just_ inside Clint, a tease, keeping him open but not letting him come. Clint made an outraged noise. 

“Uh-uh,” James told him, teasing his rim and hole with the tip of the finger, stretching it out with giving Clint any of the stimulation he needed to get off. “You don’t come until I say, understand?” Clint moaned as he slumped onto the desk. James squeezed his wrists again. “Clint, do you understand?”

“Yes, James,” Clint sighed, relaxing into the firm grip and sinking into what was sure to be pleasant torture James had designed just for him. 

“Good,” James told him, then dragged his fingers through the mess of lube he’d left behind before pressing them back into Clint - two this time, creating a delicious burning friction that faded almost immediately as Clint felt himself opening up to James’ touch. James kept the touch shallow, stretching Clint open and keeping him that way, but not delving deeper, not looking for that spot that would send Clint shattering into orgasm for all that Clint gasped and writhed beneath him. 

Only when the raging _need_ and the haze of desperation was ebbing away did James begin thrusting his fingers in, grazing over Clint’s prostate and giving him a taste of what he craving. 

“Do you like this?” James asked, voice rough with arousal but still, somehow, uncertain. 

Clint thought it had to be glaringly obvious how much he _did_ like it, but he forced an answer out of his dry throat anyway. “Yeah,” he grunted. “Yeah, I like it. Like bein’ yours.”

James exhaled roughly, his forehead pressed between Clint’s shoulderblades like Clint’s admission had cut his strings. His fingers never stopped moving though, and Clint shifted underneath him, trying to get the angle he needed and grinding his dick into the relentless hardness of the desk beneath him. James huffed a laugh between them and pulled back just enough that Clint knew he wasn’t going to get the friction he desperately needed. He whined into the surface of the desk. 

Pressing a gentle kiss to the nape of his neck, James smiled into Clint’s skin. “Baby, you’re mine, and I’m going to take good care of you,” he promised, making Clint flush and squirm. “But I’m not letting you come just yet. Just getting you ready.” He pushed his fingers back in, and in the otherwise silent room Clint could hear the wet, sloppy sound of lube squelching, and it should have been embarrassing or gross but instead Clint had tripped over into that place where everything was just _hot hot hot_. 

Including the fact that James wasn’t going to let him come. 

“I’m just getting you ready,” James told him, then took his fingers away entirely. 

Clint gasped, then groaned. “Please,” he muttered, arching up into the hand that was pinning him down. 

James rubbed the hot, blunt head of his cock over Clint’s hole. “This what you want?” James asked.

He wasn’t hard, not yet, but Clint could feel that he was chubbing back up, and he twisted, trying to get James closer. 

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” Clint begged. 

Humming thoughtfully, James replaced his cock with his fingers, pushing in ruthlessly and aiming for Clint’s prostate without hesitation, rubbing the sensitive tissue until Clint was gasping for air and incoherent with it. 

“When we get home,” he said, deliberately, “you can have anything you want. But right now, I want to watch you writhe on my desk so that every time I’m filling out some boring paperwork or answering a stupid question I can remember how good you looked, bare-assed over the top with my fingers inside of you.”

Listening to James describe it in lust-drenched tones, along with just the thought that James would think of this moment again and again, was almost enough to set Clint off. “I’m gonna come,” he warned, gasping the words out, and once again James pulled back until his fingertips were just barely inside Clint, keeping him loose and ready. 

“Oh fuck,” Clint sobbed. “Fuck, please.”

“You’ve been patient all night,” James reminded him. “You can be patient a little longer.” He eased a third finger into Clint’s ass, the burning stretch more prevalent this time but grounding, pulling Clint back from the brink. James leaned over, holding Clint’s arms in place with his weight as he propped himself on an elbow near Clint’s head and gently worked his fingers in a twisting motion, loosening Clint up even more. “I want you to be so open and ready for me that I can just slide right in, fuck you silly as soon as we walk in the door. Would you like that?” Clint nodded, his face scraping against the polished wooden surface he was lying on. “Or maybe,” James said, dipping deeper and barely grazing Clint’s prostate, “maybe we could go back to the party and I could pull you into a dark corner and fuck you there. Press you up against the wall and get my cock inside you, cover your mouth and fuck you until you were crying for it. Would that be better?”

The sound Clint made was somewhere between a moan and a sob, half-choked out as Clint bucked into James’ hold, trying to force James to do something, _anything_ , that would offer him relief. The idea of being fucked open in the dark corner of the museum appealed to him on a visceral level, even though he knew it wasn’t something they’d really do, and the idea of being wet and open and ready for James anytime he wanted it made him crazy with want. 

“I wish I had a plug,” James said softly, like he was thinking about how he could have planned this better, like he wasn’t even paying attention to the fact that he was driving Clint _insane_. “Then I could plug you up and know you were ready for me. I guess I’ll just have to make sure you stay nice and loose for me. Can you do that, baby?” 

Clint nodded again, entirely beyond words.

James pushed his fingers in further, the wet squelch reminding Clint just how much lube he’d used, and then he was rubbing hard and unrelenting on Clint’s prostate, holding him down against the desk so that his dick was trapped, unmoving, the pressure the only relief he was getting. Clint was sucking in heaving, sobbing breaths, exhaling on a litany of _pleases_ and _fucks_ and _oh gods_. 

“I’m gonna-”

James stopped. 

Clint cried out.

James held perfectly still, his fingers holding Clint open wide, where he could feel himself clenching down on _nothing_ , empty and bare and-

James’ cock slid between his cheeks, the blunt, wide head of it pressing insistently against Clint’s hole, making Clint shudder and arch and make a whimpering noise he would later deny ever happened. James pushed in, just past the flared ridge of the head and held perfectly still. “Oh yeah,” he crooned, gripping Clint’s ass and pushing his thighs farther apart so he could see. “Just like that, sweetheart. I wanna be able to push into you whenever I want, fuck you however I want. However _you_ want to be fucked.”

Clint was gasping around the sensation so close to what he wanted but not quite enough. Not full enough, not stretched enough, not fucking him _enough_. “More,” he demanded, finally finding his voice. 

“Not yet,” James told him, and he really did sound regretful as he gave one languid thrust then eased his dick back out of Clint. “We’ve been gone too long already, and there’s still some people I have to speak to before we can go home. 

“What?” Clint managed. They were- James was going to _leave_ him like this? “What?” he said again, feeling strung out and confused. James was rummaging in his desk again to pull out a pack of sanitizer hand wipes and clean his fingers off, seemingly unaware of Clint’s mental dilemma.

By the time Clint recovered enough to string any kind of thoughts together, James was busy tugging his pants back into place and helping him stand up again, holding him as pins and needles hit his feet and his head swam at the upright position. He had Clint all tucked away and neatened up in no time, except for the positively _obscene_ bulge in his trousers and the fact that his mouth still felt and probably looked swollen and well-used. 

“Just a little longer,” James promised, thumbing at the mark on Clint’s throat and giving him a heated appraisal, “and then I’ll take you home and you can have your wicked way with me.” He paused, a little something coloring his tone. Almost bashful, if Clint had ever seen such a thing on him. “If you want.”

“Oh I want,” Clint said, wrapping his fingers in the straps of the leather harness James was wearing and yanking him forward so that the press of his dick was even more obvious. James gave a nearly-imperceptible gasp as Clint manhandled him, his already-wide pupils darkening further. “I really, really want,” Clint assured him, and then ducked in for a bruising kiss, his already abused mouth sensitive and sore and on fire with the flicker of James’ tongue and the scrape of his teeth. 

James stepped back first, because he always had more self control than Clint ever would, but even Clint could see it was rueful, like he wished he’d finished what he started. The change in his normal demeanor was enough to make Clint bold, as was the throbbing emptiness of his ass and the mental images still swooping around in his brain. 

They were nearly back to the employee entrance they’d snuck out of before Clint spoke. 

“If I asked you to fuck me against the wall in a dark corner, would you?” he said conversationally, like it wasn’t all he could think about now the idea had been presented to him on a silver platter. 

James took a short, sharp breath. “Do you want me to?” he asked, slowing his steps to give Clint time to answer.

Clint considered it. The illicit thrill of it coupled with the arousal running rampant in his bloodstream meant all signs pointed to yes, but James had a career to consider. “Maybe,” he said, not trying for coy but aiming for honesty, and James flushed, the color climbing up his chest and into his cheeks as he crowded Clint against the wall and grabbed him by the ass. He hoisted Clint’s hip over his own and ground their dicks together for a long, syrupy moment before breaking away, panting.

“You’re a menace,” he informed Clint, but he didn’t sound upset about it. Instead, he reached for Clint’s belt and unnotched it, making Clint’s dick jump and his breath catch, but all he did was loosen it up, leaving it as presentable-looking as ever, until he slid his hand down the back of Clint’s pants to run his fingers around the edges of Clint’s abused rim. 

“Oh fuck,” Clint said, head thunking against the wall.

“Maybe,” James said, then let him go, straightening his clothes once again and pulling Clint back into the exhibit hall by his hand, unnoticed by anyone. 

Well, almost anyone. Natasha and Maria were waiting by the bar when they returned, passing them cold glasses of champagne and smirking mysteriously. James said thank you like there wasn’t a thing unusual about their behavior, but Clint could feel himself flushing and cursed his fair skin. 

“Are you hot, sweetheart?” James asked, ever solicitous, except for how he was smoldering up at Clint and making him hotter. “We can take your jacket to coat check if you want.”

The jacket was the only thing making any kind of half-hearted attempt at protecting Clint’s modesty, he wasn’t about to give it up. 

“I’m fine,” he said. “Didn’t you have some people you wanted to speak to?”

James smolder turned into a smirk as he raised his glass. “Just a few,” he said, tugging Clint away from Nat and Maria at a sedate pace, heading for the nearest group of rich donors. Clint sighed, but followed, with a raging boner and an empty ass. 

The next hour would have been tedious - should have been tedious - as Clint was introduced and reintroduced, as James went over various security protocols and protections in place for loaned pieces and museum transport, except that at every available opportunity, James crowded him into a darkened corner and got his hands down Clint’s pants. 

“You feel so fucking good,” James panted into Clint’s ear, his right hand down the back of his pants and two fingers deep, thrusting, the angle all wrong for Clint’s prostate but just fine for filling him up and making him crave something bigger, hotter, deeper. His dick was trapped in his pants but wedged against James’ thigh and he was rocking into it with abandon. Clint couldn’t help the whimpering noises that were spilling over the hand James had clamped over his mouth either, not that he was really trying. He was only a man, a man being tested beyond all sanity, as James continued to finger fuck him behind the display case of hosiery and stilettos. “You’re so open I could just slide right in and fuck you, would that be nice?”

Clint nodded wildly under James’ grip, his eyes rolling back as he panted and edged closer and closer to orgasm. 

James let him ride it, let Clint rub off against his thigh for much longer than Clint would have thought, but eventually he slipped his fingers out, wiping them on the tucked edges of Clint’s shirt, and easing both of them apart, flushed and panting. 

“This is torture,” Clint ground out, trying to adjust himself in his pants in a way that wasn’t excrutiatingly obvious or uncomfortable.

Leaning in, James kissed him gently, running his lips over Clint’s tentatively, so unlike what they’d been doing that it barely compared, just a butterfly-soft thing that could hardly even be called a kiss. “You wanna get out of here?” he asked, grinning as Clint tried desperately to sort himself out. 

“Yes,” Clint said fiercely, absolutely relieved and simultaneously strung up with anticipation. 

_Finally_ , they were going home. 

Nat and Maria were long gone, so there weren’t even any goodbyes to be said, just a short walk to valet parking to retrieve James’ car and then the drive home, which could be fifteen minutes on a good night or forty-five if there was traffic or construction. Clint settled into the passenger seat when James held the door for him, then settled further as he pulled sedately away from the museum, slumping over until his head was on James’ thigh and he could relax, allow the tension of the night to slip from his shoulders. 

Clint drew absent patterns on James’ thigh as they drove, breathing hotly over the bend of his hip, but otherwise didn’t distract. James had a thing about sex while driving, eschewed roadhead and road sex and anything that might endanger them in the car, but this - Clint lying in his lap while he decompressed the anxiety of being on display and simultaneously reveled in the throb of arousal in his veins was something special, a kind of slow burn anticipation that made Clint feel pliant and bold at the same time. Like James could ask him for anything and he’d do it, but also like he might ask for something of his own.

The entire evening - the tease of it, the way James had distracted Clint all night, had wound him up and left him high on anticipation and endorphins - all of it seemed like the sort of thing James would plan in order to make Clint enjoy a night he would otherwise have stressed about, make it go almost effortlessly, and he’d done a marvelous job. Now that they were gone and all the eyes were off of him, Clint was a boneless pile of arousal and need, and he fully intended to take advantage when they got home. But first-

Clint dragged himself out of James’ lap slowly, stretching out cramped muscles and slumping into the passenger seat inelegantly. He gave James a glance out of the corner of his eye, and James was smiling softly, almost indulgently, while Clint was still ragingly hard and unsatisfied. There was construction on the freeway, the traffic being detoured and redirected, and Clint figured it would take them another twenty minutes to get home, probably. He reached down and slipped his belt out of its buckle and unsnapped his pants. 

“What are you doing?” James asked, sounding more curious than upset, so Clint kept going.

“There’s a no sex with you in the car rule, but there’s no rule that says I can’t take care of myself,” Clint told him mildly as he unzipped his fly.

James made a choked noise, and Clint smirked. “Besides,” he said, shifting in his seat so that he could tug his pants down a little to make room and pulling his cock out. “I gotta make sure I’m still loose and ready for you, isn’t that what you wanted?”

Both his hands were busy now - he had a firm grip on the base of his dick, tight enough that it wasn’t really meant to be pleasurable, was intended to _keep_ him from coming. His other hand dipped farther back, his fingers just barely able to tug at his rim. Clint slid down in the seat and reached further, until he could get the ends of his fingers inside himself. He groaned. James made another inarticulate sound, and Clint let his eyes drift open and his head fall sideways so he could look at him. 

The flush was back, the edges of it crawling above the leather harness and into James’ neck, and both his hands were wrapped tightly around the wheel, his fingers clenched tightly enough that some of the color had leached out of his knuckles. He was breathing heavily, too, and kept sneaking glances at Clint out of the corner of his eye. 

“Mmm,” Clint said, working to press his fingers deeper. “I think I’m still pretty open, but maybe I should work at it a little more, make _sure_.” He hitched his foot up onto the pocket in the door so that his hips were wider and his pelvis was tilted forward. He was two fingers deep to the first knuckle now, and it wasn’t even going to come close to getting him off, but he was enjoying the tingling anticipation of it, the tease. Really, he was enjoying the way it was riling James up more than anything.

James took the next turn a little too sharply, and Clint’s fingers pressed in far enough to graze his prostate, making him gasp, making his dick jump in his hand. He groaned at the sudden sparking sensation of it traveling up his spine. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back. He worked his fingers faster, still slick from whatever lube James had used. “Feels good,” Clint told him, not bothering to open his eyes this time. “Still hot and slippery. You get some magic lube, James?”

“Silicone,” James managed, after he cleared his throat. “It’s silicone, not magic. It doesn’t evaporate.”

Clint hummed in response, still pumping his fingers at a leisurely pace. He gave his cock a single, long stroke, just for the dual sensation of it, and his toes curled in his shoes. A second hand joined his, hot and calloused, and James swiped his thumb over the head of Clint’s dick, making him cry out. 

“No sex in the car,” Clint reminded him when he got his breath back, letting go of his cock long enough to nudge James’ hand away. “They’re your rules, not mine. Hands on the wheel, mister.”

James huffed a laugh so low Clint almost didn’t hear it, but he took his hand away and put it back on the wheel, but not before Clint caught the wet sound of James sucking his fingers into his mouth, and that made him groan too. “Tease,” he muttered. 

“Right,” James said, caught somewhere between amused and aroused, “I’m the tease.”

Clint ignored the comment, caught in the devastating pleasure of his own hands and the unusual knowledge that he was in charge of this moment, that he was driving James crazy instead of the other way around. He opened his eyes when the car drove over the familiar _ba-dump_ of the speed bump at the entrance to their parking garage. WIth a sigh, he reluctantly started pulling his hands away, giving his dick a final squeeze.

“No,” James told him, swinging the car into a dark space in the corner, “don’t stop.” 

Clint hummed and slid his hand back down his pants, pausing to fondle his balls and draw teasing circles against his perineum.

James put the car into park and turned the engine off, leaving them in darkness lit only by the dim garage lighting and a single street light shining through the gap in the wall, painting everything in shades of grey. “Take your pants off,” he told Clint, voice rough. “I wanna see.”

Groaning, Clint shuffled around until he could push his pants and underwear down, sliding one foot out of his shoe and the pants leg so that they were pooled around his left ankle. “Better?” he panted, rearranging himself so that James could get an unrestricted view. 

“I don’t know sweetheart, you tell me if it’s better.” James was staring though, watching as Clint dipped his fingers into his own body, arching into the touch of his hand. 

Clint propped his right foot on the dash, spreading himself wider, and pushed his fingers even deeper, spreading them apart so James could see how open he was, how desperate he was to get James inside of him. 

“Add another one, honey,” James coaxed, the words coated in lust and encouragement. 

Sucking a breath in through his nose, Clint eased another finger inside of himself, his body easily giving in to the additional girth, almost greedy for it. He kept his pace leisurely, kept a hand wrapped tightly around his cock. This wasn’t about getting off, it was about putting on a show, about showing James just how much he’d affected Clint all night.

James reached out, tracing a fingertip along Clint’s stretched-out rim and making Clint whimper.

“I told you when we got home you could have anything you wanted,” James murmured, his eyes never leaving the place where he was touching Clint, watching as Clint worked himself open wide and ready. Clint managed a vaguely-positive sound, focused on the feather-light sensation of James touching him. “Did you decide what you wanted?” James asked, his gaze finally coming up to meet Clint’s. 

“Wanna touch you,” Clint told him, an echo of his earlier request. He licked his dry lips and crooked his fingers inside himself. “Wanna taste you. Please?”

“All you had to do was ask,” James told him, and then he reached out and gently drew Clint’s hands away, leaning over to press his lips to the head of Clint’s cock as he untangled the trousers in the footwell.

Clint couldn’t help the aborted twitch of his hips, or the broken sound that came out of his throat. 

He wanted to come so, so badly.

But he wanted to treat James as nicely as James had treated him, and he had _ideas_ for how he wanted to do that. 

James guided Clint’s foot back into the pants, smoothing them up his calf and thighs, tenderly tucking Clint’s swollen, sensitive dick away. “Let’s go inside,” he said, pausing to kiss Clint between the words, “and you can touch me any way you like.”

“Oh fuck,” Clint said, but he managed to shove his foot back into his shoe and wipe his fingers off on a spare napkin he found in the door pocket. His belt was still unbuckled and his shirt was now untucked, but Clint absolutely did not care. It was taking all his willpower not to pull James into the backseat of the car and have his way with him there, but he wanted to take his time and he wanted to be in a bed so he could pass out afterwards, so he kept his hands to himself and climbed out of the vehicle. 

The elevator ride was silent but filled with the kind of tension only two people anticipating a really good night could produce. Clint was fairly certain if anyone got on the elevator with them they’d probably get right off, driven out by smoldering looks and the anticipation of sex that lingered in the air. Clint managed to behave and keep still until James got their apartment unlocked, and then Clint was on him, kicking the door shut behind them and flicking the deadbolt with the practiced ease that came from living in a place for long enough to get comfortable. 

“Clothes off,” Clint panted, once he tore his mouth away from James’. He’d hustled them nearly to the bedroom in the short amount of time since they’d walked in the door, anxious for his promised reward. James laughed against his skin, but took a few steps backwards so that he could do what Clint asked. He shed the jacket immediately, and Clint got his first full look at what was underneath. The leather covered most of his torso, criss-crossing over his chest and ending just at the waist of his trousers. It left most of his body on display, his arms uncovered, and Clint wanted to run his tongue between the straps to taste the skin there. “Turn around,” he croaked, and James did, still smirking, so smug that Clint wanted to wipe it off his face, except that he had every reason to be smug. 

The back view was just as good as the front, the straps pulled taut and gathered into loops of metal and snaps. James dropped his pants and leaned over to pick them up, a tease so obviously intentional that Clint would have laughed if his mouth weren’t so dry and his dick wasn’t so hard. He wore black briefs under the trousers, stretched tight across his ass, his thighs flexing as he moved. Clint swallowed roughly and began yanking at his own clothing with the kind of haste that risked the fabric. Naked, he pressed himself up against James’ back, shuddering at the feel of the leather scratching across his bare skin and his cock rubbing against taut black cotton. 

He was pressing kisses to James’ neck and shoulders when he noticed the red, irritated marks along James’ skin where the leather had been rubbing against him, leaving abrasions in their wake. “How do I get this off?” Clint asked, rubbing his nose along the edge of the strap on James’ shoulder. 

“I thought you liked it?” James tipped his head back against Clint’s shoulder and leaned into his touch. 

“I do like it.” Clint ran his hands along the edges of James’ waist, stroking gentle fingertips under the leather and over his skin. “It just looks uncomfortable and I want you to feel good.”

James hummed. “There are buckles on the side and a snap at the neck.” He paused, and Clint could hear the slight hesitance in his voice when he spoke again. “Will you leave yours on?”

“Yeah,” Clint breathed, pressing a soft kiss behind James’ ear. “‘Course, if you want me to.”

“Just for tonight,” James repeated, though whether he was reminding himself or Clint, Clint didn’t know. 

“I like being yours all the time,” Clint said, “but I’ll leave the collar on if you want me to.”

There was a sigh that sounded almost content, but James didn’t say anything else, so Clint set about getting him out of the harness.

The buckles were tiny and finicky, and Clint swore more than once getting them undone, verbally questioning how James had even managed to get the damn thing on, which made James chuckle. The snap was easier, and sliding the whole contraption off of James’ right side made it all worth it. His back was criss-crossed with reddened marks, and Clint rubbed tender fingers over them, following the path of his hands with his mouth, placing reverent kisses over the marks. James sighed into the touch, letting Clint leave leisurely trails across his skin. 

Clint nudged him forward, coaxing him onto the bed and stripping him of the briefs as he did so before climbing over him to leave matching paths across his shoulders and sternum. Clint took his time, mouthing over every single mark, tracing them with his fingertips, until James was groaning and arching underneath him. Clint followed the marks all the way down to James’ hips, and then lower, pressing his mouth over familiar territory, leaving biting, sucking kisses along the thin skin of James’ inner thighs. He carefully bypassed James’ cock, which was hard and flushed against his stomach, moving lower instead to mouth at his balls, and lower still to drag his teeth across James’ perineum. Twisting his neck to reach pulled at the collar, put pressure on Clint’s throat, and the sensation made him groan a little as he worked James over.

Every biting kiss and wet swipe of tongue dragged small sounds out of James’ throat, but when Clint hitched James’ thigh over his shoulder there was no mistaking the shocked, needy noise he made in response. 

Clint started slow, with tiny licks and gentle scrapes of teeth, before pressing in harder, dragging the flat of his tongue over James’ hole, holding his hips still as he jerked into the contact. 

“Good?” he asked, lifting his head enough to catch his breath and get a glimpse of James. He was lying, blissed out, on the mattress, flushed and breathing heavily, and the entire sight of him made Clint’s question redundant. 

“Great,” James managed, sounding hoarse and fucked-out, “keep going. Fuck, don’t stop.”

Clint dived back in, alternating between keeping his tongue flat and drawing hot, wet stripes across James’ hole and up his perineum, and pointing his tongue and using it to fuck into him. He pressed against that tight ring of muscles until it began to loosen up and let him inside. James was squirming in his hold now, trying to cant his hips higher so that Clint could reach farther. Clint lifted him, pushing his hips higher and bending him so that he could reach better, keeping his mouth loose and wet and pressing as deep as he could reach, until James was gasping with it, pinned down but still writhing under Clint’s mouth.

The sight and sound and taste of James on his tongue just added fuel to the flame, just reminded Clint of his slick, empty ass, of how much he wanted to be filled up, be fucked until he was gasping for it just as much as James was. By the time Clint let James go he looked as fucked-out as Clint felt, his cock hard and leaking against his stomach and the red marks on his chest long since gone. Clint eased his legs down, rubbing any tension out of the muscles as he went, before climbing up to straddle him. 

James put his hands on Clint’s waist to help steady him, staring up at him silently with a mixture of adoration and lust on his face as he stroked careful fingers across Clint’s ribs. He reached up, tucking his fingers under the edge of the collar and pulling Clint down to press hot, needy kisses to his jaw and throat. “You gonna fuck me now?” James asked, hot and damp against Clint’s skin. 

The question made him fumble at the drawer of the nightstand before he managed to grab the well-used bottle of lube inside. “No,” Clint said, repositioning himself across James’ thighs, “I’m gonna ride you.”

James groaned, then shuddered as Clint slicked him up.

They didn’t do this often - Clint was always worried about how well he would be able to keep up, to please James, if his leg got weak or gave up. James never pushed the issue, sensitive to how Clint felt about it, but Clint knew James enjoyed seeing him on top, liked to watch Clint pleasure himself using James’ dick. And tonight Clint wanted to make himself feel good, after all the teasing and tormenting he’d put up with all night, wanted to ride James however he wanted until he came, wanted to make James come at whatever pace Clint set. 

Clint eased himself backwards, letting the lube and the stretching from the whole night ease the way as he sank slowly on to James’ dick. His back arched involuntarily as he worked his way down, James’ dick thicker than his own fingers had been in the car, thicker than James’ fingers had been in the museum, filling him up perfectly. “Oh fuck,” he gasped, blinking up at the ceiling as he sank all the way down. 

James took a choppy breath, his fingers digging into Clint’s hips as he fought to hold himself still. “You feel good,” he managed.

Smirking down at him, Clint rolled his hips, lifting up just a small amount before dropping back down, just enough to feel the difference. James’ hands spasmed. “So do you,” Clint assured him, as he set a leisurely pace. He lifted himself back up and rolled his hips down, adjusting the angle until James’ dick was gliding over his prostate with every stroke, until Clint was shuddering with every stroke, his hands braced on James’ shoulders and his body moving in whatever way felt good. 

He could feel sweat beading at his hairline and the small of his back as he moved, shifting to brace his hands on the headboard and hold himself up, could feel the burn of muscles in his thighs and calves. 

“Is this payback?” James gasped out, arching underneath him, rocking his hips in counterpoint to Clint but not quite thrusting. 

Clint opened his eyes, looking down at the man spread beneath him, holding himself tightly in check so that Clint could take whatever he wanted. James was flushed and sweaty, his jaw clenched and the muscles in his arms and chest standing out in stark relief as he held Clint’s hips and helped support him. “No,” Clint told him, letting go of the headboard to cup James’ jaw and run his thumb over James’ bottom lip. “I just wanna make it last,” he said, exhaling roughly as he sped up. 

“Whatever you want baby,” James said, bending his knees so that Clint would have something to lean into. “Whatever makes you feel good.”

As much as Clint wanted to take his time, wanted to feel James inside of him and wanted, yeah, a little bit of payback, he could feel his orgasm creeping up on him, and it was going to hit like a freight train. Too long denied, he was gasping and straining for it, riding James’ dick until his lungs burned and his thighs ached. 

“Hey,” James said, making Clint blink his eyes open to look at him. “Hold yourself up.”

Clint moved sluggishly, still writhing in James’ lap, to reposition himself with his arms on the headboard taking his weight. James bent his knees even more and thrust upward, pushing his way into Clint’s body, sparking pleasure up his spine and making him arch into it. Clint let out a jumbled moan, sucking in air and holding himself up on trembling arms. James did it again and again, working to get the angle right as he held Clint’s hips up, helping him stabilize himself for the thrusts. Clint was trembling in his grasp, his arms shaking not with effort but with pleasure, as James thrust into him over and over, pulling the pleasure from Clint’s body just the way he liked it.

“Are you gonna come for me?” James asked, thrusting harder. “You deserve it,” he said, when Clint was unable to answer, was only able to pant for air and make whining, garbled sounds. “You waited so long, you’ve been so good. I want you to come.” 

His next thrust made Clint cry out as his body seized up in the kind of pleasure that only happened when it had been put off so long, an overwhelming wave that dragged Clint beneath the surface as he shouted, came untouched on James’ cock, covering both of them in streaks of come. Distantly, he felt James’ grip become rough, almost punishing, as he held Clint still and fucked into him while he writhed, caught up in orgasm, heard the sounds that James made while he came too, thrusting into Clint’s willing body.

Clint collapsed onto James’ chest, breathing heavily, sticky and sweaty, and buried his nose in the safe space behind James’ ear, burrowing in. James let him, trailing his hands up and down Clint’s spine leisurely until his cock softened and slipped out, both of them hissing at the loss of contact, and then James rolled him onto his side. He brushed the hair out of Clint’s face, reached down to unfasten the collar still around his neck, rubbing gently at the marks it left behind. He leaned in to press a feather-light kiss in the same spot, his mouth barely brushing Clint’s skin. 

“You okay?” James asked, still stroking over Clint’s throat and shoulders. 

“Mmm,” Clint hummed, tilting his head into the touch. “I’m great.”

Eventually James moved, falling easily into their usual routine as he went to the bathroom for a warm, wet cloth and a glass of water, helping Clint clean up and drink it before tucking them both into bed. 

“Thank you,” Clint said, into the cool, dark room, once James had flipped off the lamps and pulled Clint close to him under the sheets. _Thank you for the experience, thank you for the care, thank you for showing everyone you know what I mean to you._ Clint didn’t really know what he was thanking James for, or maybe he was thanking him for all of it. 

So when James mumbled _“you’re welcome”_ into his hair, sounding sleepy and sated, Clint accepted it for all of those reasons and more. For all the reasons that he could ever thank James, up to and including loving Clint for, and not despite, his flaws. 

**Author's Note:**

> This may be the final installment in this series. I feel like we’ve reached all the milestones here guys, and gentle Dom James and Praise Kink Clint have shown their whole emotional range 
> 
> But hey! I could be wrong, never say never.
> 
> Either way thank you all for the support and the journey!!
> 
> Extra special thanks to Amberly for kink checking and to Steph for beta reading and cheerleading

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [ART for Private Security](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22343638) by [maevemauvaise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maevemauvaise/pseuds/maevemauvaise)




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